


Cold

by Left_Handed_Darkness



Series: All Rise [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Body Worship, Cold Construction, Exhibitionism, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, It makes sense in context I swear, Kidnapping, Lime, Makeover, Once again LHD manages to write inexplicably sexy shit, Other, Pre-Cybertronian Civil War, Revenge, Seeker Trines, Sort Of, about characters who lack, ahem, and then there's the Starscream sandwich, does it count if you only have an audience of one?, it starts out fluffy and gets a tad lewd, kind of?, the equipment to shag as we know it, whilst at the same time not letting you forget that they're cold-blooded murderers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:02:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23030635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Left_Handed_Darkness/pseuds/Left_Handed_Darkness
Summary: Not long after deserting the Cybertronian air force, Starscream decides to get rid of the uniform.
Relationships: Skywarp & Starscream & Thundercracker, Skywarp/Starscream/Thundercracker
Series: All Rise [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623433
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45





	Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Well this went on a wild ride from a makeover, to elaborate revenge, to goofy bullshit and then suddenly A Wild Lime Appeared.

Every cold construction was an act of vanity. 

It was in their faces; every blank mask could be traced back to the whims of bots they'd never met, to the arrogance of a senator, the lofty visage of a war hero, or the unspoken lust of a sculptor's hands. All that silent intent and  _ identity _ melted down to fill countless abnegatory molds - molds that reflected the specifications of the haughty and the vain.

Perfect. Symmetrical. Empty. 

Each machine upon the assembly line was a caress passed down those who lorded over nations, every implement a delicate finger tracing blueprints over exposed  _ sentio metallico  _ with mathematical precision. All whilst shanix passed between hands that bought and sold lives on a whim. Lives whose stories had been written before spark and brain were remotely aware of one another. 

No wonder none of them could bear to look in a mirror.

* * *

The serial number was the first thing Starscream was rid of. Skywarp had scrounged a file from  _ somewhere _ , and now it ground against the unsightly _ blemish _ at the edge of his wing. It didn't hurt - nothing really did - though the expansive sensor arrays beneath the cold steel surfaces were ringing in the back of his mind, halfheartedly informing him of superficial damage.

Crimson optics rolled in annoyance as he dismissed the notification, before settling on the cans of paint before him.  _ Of course _ the software branded into his mind and body would register such a _ deviation  _ as damage; of course it would be urging him to return to the role that the Functionists built him to fulfill.

It was always there, lurking. Invisible shackles of instinct and programming that he now saw to be defied and indulged at  _ his _ whims. Not those of others, but  _ his _ . And the sheer indulgent thrill sent a delighted twitch through his body. Talons flexed, ailerons flared, and-

"Hold still, or so I have to do that for you as well?" The voice followed a dull  _ thunk _ as the file slipped and hit the seeker's back. Clawed digits gripped Starscream's shoulder, holding him steady.

"Perhaps, Warper, you wouldn't need to if you didn't prod me in the spine every two minutes."

An ugly derisive sound came from Thundercracker's vocaliser. He shook his head, talons puncturing the lid of a paint can. If Skywarp had come up with a retort, it would have been lost to the tearing of metal. 

"You wanted red and white, correct?"

"Yes. A far cry from that grey and navy nonsense that Sentinel had us march around in. I'm many things, Thunder, and  _ drab _ will never be one of them. I think our guest might agree."

Starscream leaned back, tilting his head upwards at the cybertronian ruin dangling from the ceiling. It had been shaped like a person at one point; as too had it spoken with the eloquence and charisma of a forged general.

Now all that was left was a shattered torso and head, dangling from the rafters and bound by a mess of cables. Starscream couldn't tell which belonged to the building and to his guest any longer - but when it came to it, didn't really care. He left those details to Skywarp, who was easing his fellow seeker to lean back against his lap.

Wide amber eyes stared back at him. They might have been accompanied by a tirade of objections if Thundercracker hadn't torn the man's vocaliser out. That, Starscream had kept close to hand. Not because he had any wish to converse with his former superior - his former  _ owner _ \- but because torture lost its appeal in silence. Vengeance was something to be savored, like refined engex cocktails and the wind under his wings.

Thundercracker tossed Skywarp a roll of brushes and set the opened cans of paint on the bench next to the prone seeker. Starscream on the other hand merely relaxed, practically melting into the hands of his companions - not forgetting to shoot the broken general a coy wink.

Finely tuned sensors registered every cold brush stroke, slow and even against his prone form. He focused on the raw sensory feedback, not caring for precise shifts in air pressure or temperature, simply allowing himself to be indulged for what might have been the first time in his life. And not once did he take his eyes off the general, occasionally twitching and shifting in response to every touch.

Skywarp glowered and once again held him still.

<Just deal with it Warper. I want him to watch. I want him to know how much I enjoy trampling over everything he would stand for - if only he still had legs.> the message was silent, broadcast only between the three. Starscream wanted the general's attention on him and only  _ him _ \- not split between the trio as they squabbled.

This was his moment. His revenge.

<And I don't see why this is more effective than bludgeoning him with his own severed arm, or wiring his sensor net into the mains.>

<As delightfully brutish as you are, you never developed a taste for the subtle things in life, did you? Propriety is the spark of every Functionist, and to flaunt it so thoroughly is a shard of steel into their sparkchambers. To make him watch every violation hurts him as much as a blowtorch under cracked plating - and yes, you can enjoy that one later.>

<Was that a complement or an insult?>

<I don't recall you complaining this much when I extracted his t-cog, though I'm sure that the poetry went over your head while you were licking the energon off your claws> Thundercracker teased, allowing himself a slight smile. A taloned hand coiled around Starscream's ankle, whilst the other guided the brush up his commander's leg with slow and lurid strokes. There was a visible shudder in response, but no hint of resistance - the prone Seeker was all too absorbed in himself and his prey to bother. 

<Someone's being uncharacteristically compliant.>

<Says the person doing all of the work. Obediently too, should I add?>

<Oh hush, we both know that you're being dramatic.>

Starscream grinned, looking up at the general with hunger in his eyes. Really, it was in response to Thunder - but a little intimidation couldn't hurt. At the same moment Skywarp pushed him forwards, talons digging into the other seeker's shoulder joint in a vain effort to get Starscream to hold still whilst he applied a white base coat to his wings.

Starscream however was being twitchy, and in the back of his mind, Warper couldn't help but wonder if he was being silently goaded.

So with a broad grin, he slopped an undignified dollop of paint across Starscream's back.

<Oops.>

Starscream didn't say anything, instead leaning back and smearing fresh paint across Skywarp's cockpit. He glanced over his shoulder with a brief smirk - just as Thundercracker burst into laughter. Skywarp looked down and saw the mess he'd made, quickly succumbing to snorted chuckles of his own.

<As much as I adore watching you both make a mess, maybe we should make an attempt to stay on task? Unless you've changed your minds on the black and purple, Sky.>

Thundercracker had finished with Starscream's legs at this point, and was now working his way across his hips and abdomen. One hand rested under the small of Starscream's back, massaging the intricate segmented plates until Starscream yielded to his touch; his spine arching, the overlapping abdominal plates flaring so that Thundercracker could guide his brush between every crevasse and joint. He had gone limp in Thunder's hands, a silent surrender that undoubtedly appeased Skywarp - though the latter's grip showed no sign of slackening. If Thundercracker's hands were gentle, teasing guides; then Skywarp was his master, every touch a silent order, a _ demand  _ for compliance. And Starscream obeyed without question, gasping and whining in satisfaction as bristles and talons worked their way under his armour, teasing the delicate workings beneath. 

For once, he was not their leader, but their plaything - and how he adored the attention. And despite the quiet obedience, that defiant fire still burned in Starscream's eyes as he looked up at their prisoner, his meaning not lost on the man:

_ Look at me. Look at how pliant I am - in the hands of anyone but a slave driver like you. Look at me revel in every single thing you would deny me. Look at me reject my function, you useless half-eaten carcass. You're unfit to lick the floor clean, nevermind command a seeker regiment. _

Skywarp’s talons traced across his commander’s chassis, whilst Thundercracker settled between Starscream’s parted legs, lifting the prone seeker’s back and waist into a higher arch, their hips and abdomens pressed together whilst Skywarp pulled the two closer to his own frame. Sharp fangs nibbled and nipped at Starscream’s neck, and he leaned into it; tilting his head back in mock-defeat and compliance as Skywarp’s tongue lapped at drawn energon. Lying here, at the mercy of his brethren’s wandering claws and intoxicating ministrations, he finally felt like  _ himself _ . His own person; not merely a construct, or an MTO, nor a disposable soldier cast from a forgettable mold.

Starscream of Vos whimpered, the sound a paradox of triumph and capitulation.

The drab military livery disappeared under gleaming white and scandalous red long before the other seekers had finished coaxing Starscream into a limp and quivering heap. Any sign of the Senate’s ownership had been scoured clean away by deft hands; hands that cared more than the avarice of corrupt politicians, and hands that knew every inch of the Seeker's body, even moreso than the engineers who had designed it.

Every cold construct was an act of vanity. But for the first time, that vanity belonged to the constructed. 


End file.
